


Look Out for Sammy

by whatdoyouthinkmyjobis



Series: Hunters on the Hellmouth [20]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brother Feels, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Comfort Sex, Confessions, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Demons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhibitionism, F/M, Heart-to-Heart, Heartache, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mind Control, Monster of the Week, Non-Consensual Touching, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Plotty, Protective Siblings, Rape Recovery, Sex, Shower Sex, Siblings, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8486977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis/pseuds/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis
Summary: When an assassin is sent after Buffy, she and Dean have to overcome their heartache to stop the threat.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't a rape in this chapter, but past events are remembered and discussed.

Confident his heartbroken brother would be okay researching at the library for a few hours, Sam borrowed the Impala (“Do not fuck her in my car, Sam.”), and picked up Brittany right on time.

As she strutted up the driveway, her figure aglow in the waning evening light, he had to remind himself to breathe. Her slender ankles and shapely calves were highlighted in red pumps. He imagined kissing those feet before throwing her legs over his shoulders. A tight, white leather dress hugged every curve he wanted to explore. Her red hair was up, emphasizing her heavy lidded eyes and bee-stung lips. The things he wanted to put in her mouth…

“Nice ride,” she said, leaning into the open window. “Is this shiny beauty all for me?”

“Of course.”

The sushi place Sam had picked out for their date was unexpectedly packed. Brittany was intoxicating; the minutes turned to hours and the inches between them disappeared. Their light, effortless conversation paused as he leaned in – reveling in her orange blossom scent – and kissed her, his tongue gently parting her cherry lips.

Rubbing her hand slowly up the inside of his thigh, Brittany half whispered, “We could have dessert at my place.”

They were barely through the door of her small bungalow when Sam unzipped her dress, letting it pool around her feet. She wore nothing underneath. His clothes followed, buttons popping across the room.

Her red lips twisted into a sensuous smirk as she pulled pins from her hair, the waves cascading over her creamy shoulders. “Sam,” she purred, “are you a naughty boy, or do I have to teach you?”

Sam twisted his long fingers in her hair at the base of her head and tugged. A gasp of pleasure escaped her lips. He kissed her, lightly biting at her lips as his fingers pressed into the soft skin of her hips.

“Mmm, I’m practically evil,” said Sam, lifting her against the wall with one arm and slickening his fingers in her folds.

Digging her nails into his shoulders, she panted, “Show me.”

He slipped into her slowly, enjoying the give of her flesh, the tight squeeze of her body. It had been too long. Unwilling to let the moment end too soon, he rocked against her in a slow, steady rhythm while rubbing her swollen bud with the pad of his thumb. They were framed by the doorway, in full view of anyone walking by. Judging by her cries, Sam was sure more than one neighbor drew back their curtains to see what was going on.

He carried her to the bedroom for a few more rounds.

Laying in bed, their hands still exploring each other’s skin, Brittany grinned at Sam, a satisfied, lustful grin. He liked that grin and imagined seeing it in the morning light, tomorrow and beyond. It had been too long, and she was more than he’d expected.

“Sam, will you do something for me?” she asked, her voice rich as honey.

She’d worked him over, riding him hard like he was a horse to be broken, and he was fighting sleep so he could keep looking at her. His brain grew fuzzy, like he couldn’t connect his thoughts. “Anything.”

To his dismay, Brittany got up and disappeared down the hall, returning minutes later with his clothes. After removing the Impala’s keys, she tossed his shirt and pants on the bed. “I’m keeping your car. I think I’ll look good driving it around town.”

“Okay,” he said, not knowing why he said it.

She curled next to him in the bed, her warm curves all at once comforting and exciting. Much as he was enjoying touching her silky skin, a nagging voice rose up in his head.“My brother won’t like you keeping her. It’s actually his car. He dotes on the thing.”

“He can come over and visit. Is he as cute as you, Sam? Maybe I’ll play with him when I’m done with you. Besides, he deserves to lose his car after making me postpone my plans. Damn, phones make it harder to get my way. Speaking of, a screaming birdy told me you’re friends with the Slayer.”

* * *

 

“Attention patrons: The library will be closing in ten minutes. The library will be closing in ten minutes. Thank you.”

Dean checked his watch, surprised by the time. He’d been at the college library for over two hours researching alternate dimensions, (what Sam had suggested he do) and not checking out hot college girls (what he told Sam he would do).

Truth was, he didn’t feel like picking up women. His skin ached from Buffy’s absence, and the idea of filling her spot with someone else made his stomach flip. They didn’t always see eye-to-eye, and they literally came from different worlds; yet for a few weeks, Dean thought he knew what home felt like. Home was the soft tickle of her breath on his collarbone, her golden hair glowing in the morning light as she traced his tattoos with her fingertips, and the oft repeated question, “Can we stay here like this forever?”

No, they couldn’t. He didn’t place much stock in Spike’s explanation a few nights prior, but the vampire had one thing right: he wasn’t going to get over her. The vanilla taste of her lips, the lilac scent of her hair, the way she carried herself like some sort of goddess, it was all going to haunt him.

While he was shoving his notes in his backpack, he heard a gasp and felt two thin arms squeezing him.

“Hi-ya, Dawnie!” The sight of the girl looking up at him, grinning ear-to-ear, melted his heart. He missed Dawn’s effervescence. (Buffy preferred the phrase “annoying and nosy.”)

“You’re here! You’re here! I’ve missed you, Dean!”

“Missed you too, kid,” he said, pulling her tighter and kissing the top of her head.

Finally releasing him from her hug, she stared at his face as if inspecting him for cracks. “What’s with the beard, Beardy McBearderson?” she asked, scratching at the five days’ growth on his cheeks.

“Just didn’t feel like shaving. Thinking ‘bout keeping it. Makes mornings easier. What do you think?”

The girl shook her head in disgust. “Not a fan. Buffy wouldn’t like it either.”

The sound of her name stung. He played it off with Sam, pretending she hadn’t meant anything to him. The truth was hearing her name was almost a form of self-flagellation. “Buff – I mean, uh, is your sister here with you?”

“She’s checking out books for my history project.” Giddy with an idea freshly popped into her head, Dawn grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him toward the library entrance. “You should go talk to her; get her off my back. She’s been a major bitch lately.”

“Hey, don’t call your sister a bitch.” He planted his feet and yanked his hand back, sending a sting through his still-wounded shoulder. “But I don’t think talking to her is a good idea.”

“Is it because she shot you? Because Buffy didn’t want to shoot you.” Her voice grew squeakier and faster as it often did when rushed through an apology. “We were all acting kind of crazy. I mean, I humiliated myself in front of the school trying out for cheerleading. _Cheerleading_ , Dean! Everyone knows I’m not the coordinated Summers. When I walk down the hall at school now, some of the kids like to fall down and call it _Dawn-wheeling_. It’s totally not cool.”

“The kids at your school are douchebags. But no, it’s not just because she shot me.”

“Is it me?” she asked.

“What?! Sweetheart, no. This is all between me an’ your sister. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“But you used to come over all the time, and I was hoping you’d drop by even if you and Buffy weren’t together anymore. You haven’t been answering your phone,” she said with a whine.

 _Damn!_ It hadn’t occurred to him Dawn may have been the Summers calling him.

The girl’s bottom lip trembled. “So it kind feels like I do have something to do with it because we used to be friends, and now you don’t want to be friends. And how am I supposed to learn cool car things from if you’re not around?”

Dropping his bag, Dean comforted her with a bear hug. He could feel her tears dampening his shirt. _Dean, you fuckup._ “How about I pick you up after school on Monday, huh? We can watch some of those cheesy old monster movies your sister can’t stand. Sound good?”

Dawn nodded into his shirt, refusing to let the hug end.

He swallowed, hoping to push the dread down. “Well, uh, I guess I’ll have to see if it’s okay with your sister then.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” said a familiar voice.

Dean didn’t have to look to know it was her. Every ounce of him wanted to grab his notes and run like he had the cops on his tail, but bolting from the library wasn’t going to make Dawn feel any better.

Buffy stood a couple feet behind him. Shoulders back, feet apart, her confident stance betrayed only by her hands wringing the strap of her tote bag. Her green eyes at once sad and bright. She was dressed in jeans, a white sweater and leather jacket with her hair pulled back in a severe bun. A half smile played across her red lips.

Suddenly aware he’d been staring, Dean mustered up the courage to say, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she said. “The beard’s a new look. You haven’t started talking to volleyballs, have you?” She was joking, but the tone of her voice was soft, concerned, as if she was worried that was in the realm of possibilities since he’d closed himself off. “If you wanted to pick Dawn up at the house, that’s okay. You’re welcome anytime.”

Bittersweet emotions dizzied him. The bitter came out first. “Really? Because tryin’ to kill me doesn’t say, ‘Come on over!’”

Before she could respond, a balding middle aged man in thick glasses approached them. “I’m sorry, but the library is closed now. You’ll have to take your conversation outside.”

“You heard about the cursed jacket, right?” She continued to throttle her bag as they walked into the brisk night air.

“Entitled prick gets whatever he wants, including the unwavering devotion of several women, because he’s a quarterback. Magic aside, it ain’t exactly a new story. Groupie superhero shoots her ex as a sign of devotion, now that’s a plot twist.”

She winced slightly when he called himself her ex. “Dawn, could you give us a moment alone?”

“And go where? We’re in the middle of campus at night. You know this place is crawling with vampires.”

“I don’t care! Just be in the Realm of Elsewhere!”

With a dramatic _humph_ and eyeroll, Dawn shuffled a few yards ahead of them, grumbling, “He’s only talking to you because of me.”

“You know I couldn’t control what I was doing, right?” she said with a cold calmness.

He tried to match her tone, to stay calm for Dawn, but he practically barked at Buffy. “Way I hear it, everyone had their own flavor of crazy, but you’re the only one who tried to kill me.”

“No one else spends their nights sobbing over you like I do!” Her voice cracked, and she took a deep breath. “Dean, you fill my every waking moment. I think about you so much, I’m shocked I haven’t started talking to you in my sleep. God, everyone is pissed at me because we broke up, but no one is as mad at me as I am. So yes, I tried to kill you, because the curse kept telling me I needed to be in love with a stupid boy and I couldn’t – I couldn’t do it with you around.” She bit her lip and turned away from him.

Uncertain how to respond, they walked on together, the oppressive silence enveloped them, stole the breath from their lips.

“How’s your shoulder?” she asked.

“Fan-freakin’-tastic.”

“Liar.” The word hung in the air, plump and rotten like roadkill. The accusation lingered from the night they broke up.

“It’s, uh, it keeps getting irritated, he confessed. “It’s not like I can stop using my arm, so I keep popping stitches. I think it might be infected.”

“You’re not still using whiskey as an antiseptic, are you?” she asked, concerned.

“Nah, just for sleeping…and waking.”

“Back to that, huh? Because of the nightmares or because of us?”

It was both. Ever since they’d broken up, he’d felt betrayed and humiliated by his hopes. How could a woman like her care about someone like him? It was a stupid thing for him to have wanted from her. Even so, being able to reach out to her in the night, feel the warm softness of her body curled against his always had a grounding effect when his subconscious dredged up the harshness of Hell.

She spoke since he didn’t. “I’m embarrassed to say this because I’m never this way, but I was pretty hysterical before Spike came back and told me you were okay. Proof in the bruises. I’d refused to believe him when he said he’d pushed you out of the way–”

“Yeah, Spike’s a big, damn hero,” he grumbled.

“Dean, he saved your life. You don’t need to be jealous of him.”

“I’m not jealous,” he said a little too quickly. “You can go fuck whatever you want to. Don’t mean I need to stick around and watch.”

“Oh dear God! Is that what this is about? You think I’ve gone back to Spike?” She covered her mouth in horror before doubling over with laughter. “Spike? Again? After you, no less? It’s just – Oh God, my side hurts – just so backwards.”

“Buffy, are you okay?” shouted Dawn from across the street.

“Fine! I’m fine!” she shouted back, wiping tears from her eyes.

He bit his lip, missing the joke. Feeling like a joke.

She reached out for his hand, but he stepped back beyond her reach. The smile of surprise quickly faded as sadness took over her eyes.

“Dean, Spike and I shouldn’t have been together in the first place. He was there in a vulnerable moment. When I was pulled out of Heaven, I had no one to talk to. They were all so proud of themselves for rescuing me from Hell, but Spike knew what it was like to climb out of your grave and wonder why you’re still here. He was someone I could talk to, and yeah, we screwed around.”

She leaned toward him, ensuring he swallowed every word. “You want to know how romantic that was? He said he loved me, but we used to beat the shit out of each other beforehand and cut each other to ribbons with words after. Those violent moments were the only moments I felt alive, because that’s what I thought I deserved. Pain. Humiliation. Self-loathing. If you think for a moment that I want to go back to that, then you don’t know me at all.”

He looked away, rubbing his face to hide his expression. Maybe he didn’t know her. The Buffy in his mind was never anything less than confident and enthusiastic about life. She was a one-girl army made of heart, possibly the one person he’d ever met who could wallow in the hunter life and not be swallowed by it. He could barely wrap his head around the thought that she had ever been as hollow and crippled as he was.

“What? Am I not so cute and girly with all my darkness spilling out? The bottle’s broken, Dean. You can’t put it away.”

He sighed, his voice subdued. “What do you think you deserve now?”

It was her turn to be surprised, the weight of his question stripping away her anger. “After all this time, I think I’m entitled to a little happiness. Selfish, I know.” Looking down the block, her face illuminated by the moonlight, she whispered, “I hadn’t planned on breaking up with you, you know. I was hoping we would work through it.”

“Didn’t work out that way.”

“No, it didn’t.”

They walked on. Dawn was nearly a full block ahead of them, and Dean wondered if she was too far. No doubt, Buffy had something pointy and lethal in her bag, but he couldn’t suppress the worried brother voice inside him. _Look out for Sammy. Look out for Dawn._ It was one thing they had in common.

“You wouldn’t tell me what was wrong,” Buffy said. “I can’t guess why you’re mad. I can’t start to make things right if you keep everything bottled up. I felt like you weren’t trying, like your anger was more important to you than I was.”

Between watching out for everyone she loved – the townspeople included – helping keep her house in order, hunting with her, and even opening up with stories about his life, Dean wasn’t sure how else to show her how important she was to him.

“Talking about stuff wasn’t really a thing when I was a kid. Didn’t tell Sammy why Mom died, why we were on the road all the time, what Dad did. Found all that on his own. Talking about being mad or whatever was just whining, and good soldiers don’t whine. Good soldiers do as they’re told. Eventually, I stopped thinking about it, because it didn’t change anything. Mom was still dead. Dad was still gone all the time. Sam still needed food on the table and help with his homework.”

Buffy shook her head; disappointment filled her eyes. “If you want to play soldier, you can. If you want to bottle yourself up, you can. But I don’t need a sir-yes-sir drone in my life. And I don’t need to let you root deeper into my heart if you’re not going to try.”

They were only a couple blocks from Buffy’s house. Once, Dean had found the place warm and inviting, homey like Bobby’s place or Ellen’s roadhouse. Now, he wasn’t sure if he could bear stepping inside. “You’re really okay with me coming over to hang out with your sister?”

“I’d rather you were coming over to hang out with _me_ , but if your Saturday morning cartoon habit gets Dawn to hate me less, I’m all for it.”

“Hey, her hating you is all on you.”

“Excuse me? I may not have wanted to break up with you, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t going to have a huge fight, Dean. We have problems – gigantic, ugly troll-sized problems, and we have to talk about them. Exhibit A in the Chamber of Secrets: What the hell was D’Hoffryn talking about with you being Hell’s prize?”

“Shut up.”

“What?! No, we’re talking about –”

“Shut up!” shouted Dean, breaking into a sprint.

Down the block, a large, stumbling figure had pushed Dawn into a bush. As Dean drew closer, he saw the figure was Sam, barefoot and shirt torn, his face covered in a yellow powder, blood coming from his mouth and nose. The distinct smell of orange blossoms permeated the air.

“Sammy! Sammy! What happened?” shouted Dean, looking his brother over and trying to force him to sit.

“Ruuun.” Sam’s words were slurred, nearly drunk. He pushed Dean into the street before lunging at Buffy like he was trying to harm her but wanting to miss.

Swinging her bookbag, Buffy knocked Sam in the head.

“Good! Knock. Me. Out.” Each word sounded choked.

Grabbing Sam’s arm, she swung his large frame over her. He landed on his back with a gasp and a thud, but quickly rolled to his feet and lunged at her again.

Dean tackled his brother and tried to restrain him, but Sam was too strong to be held down. He punched Dean in the jaw.

“Knock. Me. Out!” Sam took another swing at Buffy, barely missing her.

“I’m so sorry,” said Buffy. She kicked him in the balls. When he doubled over, she grabbed his head and cracked it on her knee. Sam collapsed.

“Dawn! Call an ambulance!”

* * *

 

Dean was used to being by Sam’s bedside. As children, their father would plop them both in one large hotel bed, a duffle bag on the edge of the bed to keep them from rolling out. Often, Sam would be scared of the new hotel, new sounds, the ominous feeling he always seemed to have that something was coming, and Dean would hold him, telling him monsters weren’t real.

“Everything’s okay, Sammy. I’m here. I got you. Close your eyes.”

For most teens, growing up involved retreating to the solitude of their bedrooms. For the Winchester boys, it meant rotating who slept on the floor (Dean usually volunteered) and who rode shotgun by Dad (Dean usually insisted). Personal space was being mere feet apart. Even as adults, sharing shitty motel after shitty motel, their beds were always close enough for Dean, worried all these years later that something was coming for his baby brother, to reach out in the night and brush the hair out of Sam’s face.

In the dim hospital room, Dean brushed Sam’s hair out of his eyes and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders. Sitting in the bedside chair, he held his brother’s hand. “I’ve been lookin’ out for you my whole life. Number one priority: Keep Sammy safe. Last few weeks – hell, last few months, I been caught up in my own bullshit and let you get hurt. Gonna fix it though, just like I always do.”

The nurse came in to check on Sam’s tubes. “You’re Sam’s brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Your girlfriend is here. Is it okay to send her in?”

“My wha–? Oh, yeah, okay.”

A few minutes later, Buffy nervously peeked through the door. “Is it okay for Winchester enemy number one to visit?”

Swiftly, he crossed the room and embraced her. With a sigh of relief, Buffy buried her face in his shoulder. They clung to each other as if to keep the whirlwind of the past two weeks from blowing them apart. In a series of stutters, starts, and ramblings, they tried to explain themselves.

“I’m so sorry–”

“–don’t understand what’s going on –”

“Didn’t mean to–”

“–couldn’t stop–”

“–miss you like crazy–”

“–want this to be over –”

“What’s wrong with Sam?”

Sam lay silent, hooked up to ivs and sensors, with a whirring machine beside him, taking out his blood and putting it back in.

“The doc, she said the yellow stuff that was all over him was some kinda poison. Said it would rupture things. They’re doing something right now to clean his blood. Someone died from this a couple weeks ago, but they don’t know what it is.”

“Doesn’t sound natural. We thinking spell or demon?”

“Don’t know, but I’m pretty sure his date would.”

“That’s right! Brittany, I think? Poor Sam! He was so excited. We have to find her. She could be hurt, too.”

Dean was slightly taken aback she knew this detail. How much did she talk to Sam now that he wasn’t around? “If he wakes up, we can ask him. Right now, he’s gotta rest. Concussion.” The dark shadow of _if_ loomed large.

“God, Dean, I’m so, so sorry.” Usually proud and unrepentant, Buffy looked like she was trying to sink into the floor.

“I get it. I mean, I’m not happy about my baby brother getting hurt, but he was literally begging you to knock him out. Not a lot you could do there.” He paused. “Like how you couldn’t get around shooting me.”

Relief washed over Buffy’s face. “Thank you.”

She gazed at him, expectant, hopeful, but he didn’t have any hope to share. Exhausted, Dean sat back in the chair by his brother’s side, listening to the steady beeps and whirs of the machines keeping him together.

Buffy stood beside Dean. “Sam’s going to be okay,” she said.

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t, but you need to hear it. You look sick, Dean.”

“Sammy’s all I got. Everything goes upside down, an’ it’s okay because my brother’s by my side rolling his eyes and fussing with his hair. I lost him already, Buffy. I won’t let it happen again. I can’t.” He bit his tongue, focusing on the pain to keep from crying.

There was a gentle knock at the door as Dawn, Willow and Xander slipped into the room. “Hi, we’re here to eat Sam’s jell-o,” said Xander with a concerned smile and small wave.

With a blue stuffed dog in her hands, Dawn bee-lined to Sam’s bedside, “Can he hear us?”

“I-I don’t know,” said Dean. “I’ve been talking to him anyway.”

“Sam? Hi, Sam. It’s Dawn. I brought you a dog,” she said laying the toy by his still hand. “It’s not a real dog because this is a hospital and you’re unconscious and all, but it’s a special dog. My-my mom got it for me when I was eleven and missed a week of school with bronchitis. Bed rest is better with a puppy. That all made more sense in my head at home.”

Looking from Dawn to Buffy, Willow to Xander, Dean was confused. Buffy’s presence almost made sense. She felt guilty, but everyone else? “Why are you all here?”

Willow said, “Because we care about Sam.”

“We care about you, too, you hermit,” said Xander. “Hence the phone calls you don’t return. Is that harder to believe in than vampires and time-travel?”

Feeling like a heel for dodging them all, Dean said, “It’s gonna be a long night. Anyone else want some coffee?”

* * *

 

They were a tight squeeze in Xander’s car, Dean and the Summerses in the back, Willow riding shotgun. Buffy wanted to wrap herself around Dean, reassure him that Sam would get better, that they would kill the monster, that she wanted him. Instead, she brushed her pinky over his hand resting on his thigh. He kept staring out the window but snatched her hand and squeezed, saying nothing the entire trip back to her house.

She sent Dawn off to bed the moment they returned home (“But it’s _Friday_!”).

Willow had managed to convince a nurse she was studying virology at UC Sunnydale and had procured a sample of the yellow powder which had been covering Sam. Wired from the coffee and concern for their friend, Willow and Xander immediately set to research.

Dean leaned against her front door, lost, confused, and ready to bolt. He wanted, she knew, to go back to the hospital, to stay awake all night by his brother’s side monitoring every twitch and breath; but the doctor had assured them Sam was in stable condition.

“Go home and get some rest,” she’d said.

Buffy knew Dean wouldn’t sleep at home and had insisted he come back with them. Looking at him now, eyes downcast, nails biting into his palms as he clenched his fists, she wondered if he’d known a peaceful night’s sleep since they broke up.

Slipping her fingers into his fist, she said, “Come upstairs.”

He didn’t argue.

She led him into the bathroom. “Take off your shirt. I want to see your shoulder.” Usually, when one of them had been injured in a fight, patching each other up turned into an excuse to get naked, to wash each other off, to kiss each other’s bruises before tumbling into bed. She made sure to leave the bathroom door open tonight. “You’d mentioned you thought it was infected. I wanted to check on it before I try to convince you to try a little sleep.”

“You told the nurse you were my girlfriend.” His voice was small, hollow.

“You didn’t argue.”

“Seemed easier to just go with it,” he said, stripping off his black button down and grey t-shirt.

She busied herself with peeling off his bandages, telling her fingers to not get excited about touching him. She wanted to be kissing him, trailing her fingers down his body, but now wasn’t the time for kiss-and-makeup. Despite their hug at the hospital, she didn’t think that time would be soon.

“Sam’s died before,” said Dean in a half whisper, as if saying it louder could crack the world.

She knew this, but didn’t want to break whatever spell was finally getting him to talk.

“He died in my arms. Some son of a bitch stabbed him in the back. Azazel put him up to it. Sammy fell to his knees, an’ I held him tight. He couldn’t even speak, just choked in my ear. Felt him go limp, get cold.” Dean stopped, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes tight, as if he could force the memory back down to the darkest part of him.

“You know, I remember the night our mom was killed. I remember running down the hallway toward the screaming, my dad shoving my baby brother in my arms. The night mom died, dad snapped. We didn’t grow up with parents, not how most kids do at least. Dad was in and out trying to figure out what killed mom. He started leaving us alone overnight when I was six. He’d put a revolver in my hand and say, ‘Look out for Sammy.’ That was always number one. I fought bullies for him in school. I skipped my homework so I could help him with his. Got snagged by the cops a couple times for stealing food. Kept creepers away from him.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“It wasn’t. He was my responsibility. The one person I could do right by in this fucked up world was my baby brother. I gave him everything I could. So when he was taken from me an’ killed in some fuckin’ cage match, I lost it. I did the only thing I could to get him back.” He paused, gathering strength to continue. “That’s why I was in Hell, Buffy. That’s why D’Hoffryn knows who I am. I traded my soul for my brother, and I – I…”

Buffy had to remind herself to blink. Quickly, she rebandaged the entrance wound she’d given him and moved to the exit wound in his back, trying to avoid staring. “What does that mean? Do you not have a soul?”

“These types of deals, they’re a little like what Anya used to do, except instead of turning your words all bizzaro world on you, the crossroads demons give you exactly what you want. Ten years later, they set the hellhounds loose on you to collect. I only got a year. They brought Sam back, and I told myself, it was all worth it. Then the hounds came. Tore me apart right in front of my baby brother.”

Overwhelmed, he started to shake. Worried he was going to pass out from the stress of the night and the trauma of the memory, she guided him to the floor and held him while he quietly wept on her shoulder. She’d never seen him cry. The raw emotion shocked her, but wasn’t that what she’d asked for? Her big, strong hunter was tearing down his walls.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” she cooed, cradling his head. “I did something similar for Dawn. Sometimes I think you and I have been working off the same script.”

He pulled away from her and leaned against the bathtub. Wiping his red eyes with the back of his hand, he said, “You don’t understand. Hell made me a monster.”

“Dean, you’re not a monster.”

“I was there for forty years, Buffy. Forty years! Alastair’d cut me apart and put me back together so he could do it again and again, always asking me if I wanted to be done. All I had to do was torture people like he did.” Dean buried his mouth in his hands, rocking gently on the floor. He kept talking, muffled through his fingers. “After thirty years, I couldn’t take it any more. I said yes, picked up a knife, and started cutting people apart. Alastair said I was good at it, gifted, and the worst part was, I _liked_ it. If Cas hadn’t pulled me outta there, I’d be halfway to turning demon right now.”

Buffy moved to his side and tenderly held his face in her hands. “Look at me. I am Buffy Anne Summers. Chosen One. Vampire Slayer. I kick evil in the ass so often, it knows my shoe size. It is my birthright to find and destroy monsters. Dean, you’re not a monster. You slide on this tough guy jacket, try to be the soldier your dad wanted you to be, but you have this huge, drumming heart aching to care for everyone around you. Monsters don’t sacrifice themselves for their baby brothers. Monsters don’t offer to put themselves in harm’s way so their girlfriend can finish a stupid paper. They don’t volunteer their time to hang out with their ex’s bratty sister. God, you’re so busy putting everyone else first, sometimes I even wonder if you care about yourself at all. Dean, you’re a hero.”

He shook his head, unable to imagine what she saw. “I’m a high school dropout with a trail of felonies. I try to do enough good to outweigh my mountains of bad, but I’m too much of a screw up to be a hero.”

“But you are. Being a hero doesn’t mean you’ve never screwed up or done something horrible. It doesn’t mean you’re great at your job, good at relationships, or even liked by your family. Being a hero means when there’s no time to waste, you follow your gut, and your gut says to do the right thing no matter how hard it is.”

His eyes, weary and bloodshot but bright as ever, met hers, and she felt as if he could see deep inside her to the moments she felt less than heroic.

She whispered, “So if you’re going off your gut, are _we_ worth fighting for?”

“Yes,” he said without a moment’s hesitation.

With that one quick word, all the heartache, anger, and shame transformed into fireworks in her stomach. The excitement in her fingertips spread over her whole body as she pressed her lips to his, slow and hesitant.

He returned the kiss, his supple mouth tenderly consuming hers. Wrapping her small frame in his strong arms, he moaned like a starving man at a full meal.

Before their kisses could evolve into something else, Dean drew back, burying his face in her neck while she stroked his hair. Their bodies hummed with all the words still unsaid, the insecurities still wobbling, the accusations still in the air, but their bodies hummed together.

“Buffy, I’ve done terrible things you can’t –”

“Shut up, okay? Of my best friends, one skinned a guy and the other left his fiance at the altar. I’m pretty sure Giles used to kill people in the seventies when he was a shady warlock. Rounding out the group is an ex-demon who I was fighting to the death two weeks ago and a vampire who originally rolled into town looking to make me a stuffed trophy. And Dawn’s a teenager. You will not win the race for who is the most messed up person to enter my house, so don’t even compete. Your past is your past.”

She kissed him gently on the cheek, not trusting her pounding heart with more. “Now try to get some sleep, okay?”

* * *

 

Xander noticed the change in Buffy’s demeanor as soon as she descended the stairs. “Back together then? I didn’t hear any loud makeup sex, but you don’t look like you swallowed a spider, either. For the love of God, do not tell me what you swallowed.”

Like a good best friend, Willow smacked him upside the head so Buffy didn’t have to. “Private! Private! But please spill, Buffy.”

“We’ve agreed we have some stuff we need to work out,” she said with a small smile.

“Like how voicemail works, and how to pick up a phone?” Xander asked.

The smile faded. “No, it’s kind of personal. The important thing is we know we need to work on things, and we both think it’s worth the trouble.”

“At least I have my poker buddy back. He wipes the floor with me, but I’ve missed that intimacy with my carpet.”

“This isn’t about you, Xander,” chided Willow.

“Can it be a little bit? Dean thinks I’m funny. I’d like to keep a guy with such good taste around. As much as I love you both, I’m sort of short on people I can have a beer with while pretending I know anything about sports. Unless you want to count Spike, and I’d rather have less time with him.”

Willow patted his hand in sarcastic encouragement. “Roommate situation not working out? Have you tried a chore chart?”

“Ha. Ha. Don’t act like you’re not excited to have lovey dovey Buffy back over snappy zappy Buffy.”

“I am not snappy zappy,” Buffy pouted.

“Moving on to today’s story in gross: What’s the yellow stuff, Will?”

Clearly relieved at the topic shift, she explained, “It’s entirely organic, which doesn’t tell us if it’s a spell or poison or a poison spell. All I know at this point is his date wasn’t easy, breezy, beautiful with yellow eyeshadow.”

Buffy curled her lips in disgust at the idea of bright yellow eyeshadow.

Curious, Xander picked up the vial of mystery powder and shook it. It was a fine grain, sticking to the glass. “How did they get this stuff off of him? It looks like it would get everywhere, like an evil glitter monster.”

He pulled out the rubber stopper and sniffed it. Immediately, his whole body warmed and relaxed, save for his out-of-nowhere erection. Shoving the stopper back in, he handed the vial to Willow, hoping his face wasn’t too red, his pupils too lust-blown.

“Let’s find out what this is as soon as possible. I need to use the bathroom. Don’t check on me,” he insisted as he dashed upstairs.

* * *

 

It was around five in the morning when Dean, fully dressed and moving like the devil was chasing him, bolted out of the house.

Exhausted from a sleepless night of research, Buffy snagged her jacket and ran after him. “Where are you going?”

“Hospital called. Sam’s awake.”

“Thank God! Hey, slow down!” She grabbed his hand and convinced him to stop walking for a second. A frantic urgency covered his pillow-creased face. “Do you want Xander to give us a ride?”

“Nah, I think I’m good on friendly friend speeches for a while.”

She glared at him, disapproving of the sarcasm.

He sighed and said, “I need some time to think about some stuff. Come with me if you want, but I want to see Sam alone first.”

They walked quietly into the night, fingers laced together.

At the hospital, Buffy sipped a cup of terrible but necessary coffee outside Sam’s room. Dean had spoiled her. He knew exactly how she liked her coffee. He knew exactly how she liked everything. Crossing her fingers, Buffy asked the universe again to make sure Sam was okay. They could work through Spike and trust and Hell, but causing permanent damage to his baby brother was a hurdle Dean could never get over.

Dean stuck his head in the hallway and motioned for her to join them.

Despite his bruises, tubes, and bloodshot eyes, Sam was smiling. “Hey, Buffy. Thanks for knocking me out.”

“That’s a new one. Was this an elaborate ruse to get time off?”

“You got me. Getting kicked in the junk is better than being surrounded by teenagers. Tell Dawn I said thanks for the dog, by the way. I’ll take good care of him.”

“I’m happy to see you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I like not being poisoned.”

“He said it didn’t happen on his date. It was his date. Brittany, or whatever the fuck her name really is, is a monster. A yellow powder-spitting, mind-controlling monster,” said Dean gruffly.

“Willow thinks she knows what the powder is. She said it’s like a pollen-fungus hybrid,” Buffy said.

“Hear that, Sammy?” said Dean, slapping his brother in the arm. “You were trippin’ on mushrooms.” He was joking, but his face belied his concern.

“But it’s not your standard daisy chain stuff. She said it was sort of like one of those carnivorous plants and a zombie fungus.”

“There’s a fucking mushroom that makes people zombies?” asked Dean.

“There’s a fungus in South America which makes ants basically sacrifice themselves as plant food for the perpetuation of the fungus. It’s not chop-their-heads-off kinds of zombies,” Sam explained.

Breathing a sigh of relief for not having to give a weird botany lesson, Buffy said, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Bitch has plant powers. So she’s a Gotham villain? Anyway, we can deal with her.”

“Dean, she is very persuasive. Be careful,” Sam pleaded.

“Careful? I’m Batman.”

* * *

 

When they turned onto Brittany’s block, Dean broke out in a trot. “Hey, Baby! Did you miss me?” He ran his fingers over the curves of his Impala’s rear panel. Spreading his arms out and resting his head on the roof, he cooed, “Sam can’t take you out anymore if he’s not gonna keep you safe.”

“Do you two need some privacy?” Buffy asked, trying to hold in a smile.

“Wha–? Nah, I’m good.” Dean sniffed and adjusted his jacket, brushing off his moment of boyish joy. “We got a hellbitch to gank. This one?” he asked, pointing to a yellow stucco house.

Knocking on the door yielded no answer. Peeking through a gap in the curtains, Dean spied a shock of bright red hair. “It’s wabbit season, bitch.”

He grinned at Buffy, “Ready, Girly?” Together, they kicked the front door down.

Inside, a buxom redhead wearing only a silky bathrobe sat on the couch sipping coffee, completely unshaken by two people kicking down her front door. Sam had not exaggerated when he had described her.

“Jessica Rabbit,” Dean muttered, “there’s a fantasy shot to hell.” He snatched the Impala’s keys off a key caddy. “Now that I got my Baby back, let’s talk about what the fuck you did to my brother.”

“ _You’re_ Sam’s brother? Mmm, the Winchesters are sexy all around. Come sit by me.”

“Not happening,” said Dean, obediently sitting beside her. An intoxicating smell like orange blossoms emanated from her skin. He wanted to get away from her as fast as possible, drench her in the lighter fluid in his jacket, but his body would not respond.

Setting down her coffee, Brittany snuggled up next to him, playing with his hair and rubbing the inside of his thigh.

He kept his eyes on Buffy. Buffy, who he’d just gotten back, looked like she was ready to vomit and break things. “What are you doing?” Her voice was pained.

He winced as Brittany nibbled his ear. “Don’t know. Can’t stop it. Sorry.”

Brittany glared at Buffy through heavy lidded eyes, a sick grin on her lips. “She’s the Slayer, right? Someone told me Sam and Buffy were friends. I was tickled to find out she was dating his brother. Adds to the pain, you see. Speaking of, is Sam dead?”

“He’s still kickin’. Sorry, bitch.”

With her hand on Dean’s throat, one sharp red nail scratching at his jawline, she hissed, “You’re going to be a good boy and stop calling me that, or you’ll get the same as your brother.”

“The yellow powder? What is that shit, anyway?” asked Dean, trying to keep her focus off Buffy.

“It’s my little love potion. Toxic to human men, but as a side-effect, it makes you more compliant. I can still get one thing I need from you though,” she said as she palmed him through his jeans.

Despite his revulsion, he could feel his erection growing.

“But if your girlfriend gets any closer to me, I’ll forgo sex and rip your balls off. Understand?”

To his relief, Buffy stopped shifting toward the couch.

“You’ve come here to kill me. A man who thinks he can best me? Adorable. Here’s what we’re going to do. I still need the Slayer dead, so you’re going to kill her, then clean up the mess known as Sam. We’ll have sex somewhere in there. Don’t worry. Now be a good soldier and kill your girlfriend.”

The monster’s scent consuming him, Dean rose from the couch and moved toward Buffy. She was more than prepared for him, but he easily knocked her down and pinned her shoulders to the ground. She had thrown Sam hours earlier, yet barely struggled beneath him.

“Dean, I like pain. Are you kinky like that?” Brittany purred.

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“Then let’s make this extra painful. Do you love her?”

A confused knot of words choked him. Buffy’s eyes were large and worried. She was holding her breath, her hand still in his jacket pocket. “Kinda hard for me to say.”

“Why? You either love a person or you don’t.”

“Everyone I love dies. It’s like signing their death warrant,” he confessed.

Buffy sharply sucked air in through her teeth.

Brittany considered this for a moment as she stared at the couple in a knot on her floor. “Do you imagine what your life would be like in the future? Do you ever dream she’s Mrs. Winchester? I want her to know before you kill her.”

Moving his hand to Buffy’s throat, he said as he squeezed, “I have this one dream over and over. We have a house of our own and a little girl, blonde and strong like her mom. It’s my favorite dream.”

“See what you’re going to miss, Slayer? Tea parties and bedtime snuggles. It’s almost a pity; you two would make a cute baby.” Brittany’s voice dripped cocky with victory.

Curling her legs up under Dean’s body, Buffy pushed him off with her feet, sending him flying into the wall across the room. “Guess again!” she yelled as she sprayed lighter fluid on the monster.

Brittany opened her mouth, not to scream, but to release a sickly white proboscis. Taking a pack of matches from her pocket, Buffy lit up the proboscis like a wick. Brittany screamed and writhed. Her alabaster skin turned yellow and scaly. Her red hair gone. Buffy yanked Dean off the floor and rushed him outside.

Feeling hollowed and exposed, he leaned all of his weight into his car. Trying to get the stench of the monster out of him, he gasped for air. He felt two small hands holding his face, but he was too scared to open his eyes, to see the hurt and confusion on Buffy’s face.

“Dean? Babe? Are you okay?”

“No. No I’m not, and I don’t want to talk about it! I’ve had a whole fucking night of talking about shit, and I’m fucking talked out,” he said hoarsely.

She held him, her whole body pressing into his, her head tucked under his chin. “We don’t have to talk until you’re ready. Right now, how about we go home, wash off the stink of bitch flambé, and sleep until we can’t sleep anymore?”

One thought rose above his stomach-churning humiliation and revulsion. “I want to see Sammy first.”

* * *

 

Back at the house, Dean sat on the shower floor, knees drawn up to his chest, the scalding water pummeling his back, streaming from his scalp down his face. He could still smell the orange blossoms, feel the demon’s fingers on his flesh, and no amount of scrubbing could wash her away. He could see himself giving in to her, only she was the babysitter when he was twelve, the hotel owner when he was fifteen. They were wrapped up in her stench cut through with sulfur, the nightmares of things done to him over forty years.

Taking deep breaths, he tried to quell the panic rising up inside of him. He scratched at his arms, his throat, anything the monster had touched. Tears mixed with the water.

Another pair of hands, small and soft, pressing against his chest, over his heart. Familiar hands. A warm embrace. Her breath on his back. She whispered, “Are you okay?”

“I-I can’t get her off me.”

“I’ve got you, baby. She can’t have you.” Buffy grabbed her soap, half joking, “I hope you don’t mind smelling like me,” and scrubbed every part of him she could reach.

The stench of sulfur gave way to her lilac and vanilla scent. The thousand greedy hands on his skin disappeared and there was only Buffy doing her best to wash his nightmares away.

He drew her into his arms, his mouth kissing whatever part of her he could find. She moaned, settling onto his lap. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, smelling her, confirming she was real.

They turned off the water and tumbled, naked and dripping, to the bedroom. “I missed you,” she said, her hands caressing his face. “I’ve felt so empty without you.”

They showered each other with unhurried kisses, his fingers skating over her body with the desperate need to confirm she was real. Rocking together in a tender, imperfect rhythm, the last week and a half faded away. There was only Buffy smiling up at him. Smart, confident, and convinced he was worth being with. Worth fighting for. Her warmth reminding him he was wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to make it clear that in this chapter, the sex between Sam and Brittany was consensual. She did not use her powers on him until afterward. This is explained in following chapters, but considering Sam was put under a sex spell in a recent episode, I wanted to clarify that now.


End file.
